


Responsibility

by Lidsworth



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Humor, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lidsworth/pseuds/Lidsworth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Asami's egotistic mind, leaving Takaba for the photographer's own sake seemed like the responsible thing to do, at the time. Not to mention, he eradicated himself of a liability. Only, Akihito wasn't supposed to find him years later, and demand an explanation for their sudden breakup.<br/>Dak humor, slight PTSD</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I'm not posting this on fanfiction for a while.  
> Summary: In Asami's egotistic mind, leaving Takaba for the photographer's own sake seemed like the responsible thing to do at the time, not to mention, he eradicated himself of a liability. Only, Akihito wasn't supposed to find him down years later, and demand an explanation for their sudden breakup.  
> Dak humor, slight PTSD  
> For once in my stories, Asami isn't with another woman! Surprise, huh? I got inspired to do this after brief psychology “moral dilemma” situation. Takaba may seem slightly OOC towards the beginning, but he shapes up towards the end. Also, i'm posting this first on ao3 as a two chapter story, but when I upload it to fanfiction, it'll be just one HUGE chapter.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own the Finder Series.

What started out as a loud group of fifteen missionary workers, bustling around the large terminal, laughing loudly, and swearing occasionally as they recalled the trials and errors they had overcome in the last few months, had dwindled down into nothing more than a few people, as the intercom began calling certain to the airplanes.

Takaba struggled to find a comfortable position in the upright chair, twisting his body at some points, letting his legs hand off of the arm, or laying upright, legs in the air and hanging on the back of the chair.

Still , he couldn't get himself comfortable. And falling asleep was not an option, he had no intention of ruining his back any further than he already had.

“Lay on the floor,” the voice advised from beside him, “it'll be another hour until they call us to go home, so I suggest you keep on the ground.”

“But the ground is dirty,” Takaba replied, finally settling for the traditional pose, he rested his elbow on the arm, and leaned his head in his hands, “this'll be alright.”

“You've rested on dirtier,” the voice responded, proposed action, “and besides, it's not all that dirty. Don't you want to help your back.”

The offer was tempting, _very tempting._ In fact, for the last year, such rigorous activity and physical demand had left Akihito near cripple, and very close to permanent handicap. 

He was just recovering from a fall he'd received while shooting an aerial perspective of a refugee camp, and by accident, had slipped down the hill in which he perched himself on. Not to mention, a year before, he'd fallen victim to a public lashing, though he did it out of pure consideration for mischievous orphans.

Since then, he had thrown his back out numerous times, even once before they boarded the plane. Now he was steadily recovering, though these forced aerobics were nothing short of painful.

Perhaps the floor was a better option.

Tossing his backpack which contained his personal items onto the ground, Takaba slid off of the cushioned chair, and knelt to the ground on all fours. Slowly, he let his body kiss the ground, looking eerily similar to a deflating air mattress.

“Better?” the voice questioned with a relieved tone, “you really looked like you were struggling.”  
“Give me a blanket and we'll call it even,” Takaba, as he crossed his arms and leaned on them, “But it's not so bad.”

From above him, the occupant in the chair tossed his small bag to the ground as well, and seconds later, his entire body.

“Try being locked in a concrete cell for half a year,” the voice let on anxiously, “Not that calls for bad back problems!”

Takaba rolled his eyes at his partner's bizarre statement, though internally, he was grateful that Keiichi remained the happy sucker that he was, despite all he'd experienced and seen.

The photographer turned his head towards Keiichi, “Thinking of removing those highlights?”

Keiichi smiled and ran a hand through his purple and blond hair, “Why the hell should I?”

Akihito shrugged, and turned his head back towards the ceiling. Keiichi did the same, and placed his hands on his stomach.

Takaba cast a sideways glance, and grimaced at the man's dark nail polish.

“You look ridiculous,” Takaba complimented, “very.”

Keiichi chuckled, “And you look normal, oddly normal.”

They resumed their silence, and continued their staring contest with the ceiling. The closer their time to board the plane came, the more people filled the cabin.

All were Japanese, as all were heading to Tokyo. From his wayward position on the ground, Takaba counted a surplus of business men, several families, and perhaps a minority of unaccompanied minors.

No doubt did they cast disproving glares towards the awkward youths sprawled on the ground, but neither cared.

Each was in his own world.

For Takaba, the lights hung overhead like the blazing desert sun, the smell of sweaty passengers, and exotic perfume morphed into the musty smell of the arid terrain. Underneath him, the prickly texture of the worn air terminal carpet, felt as nettlesome as the barbed sand that rubbed against Akihito's fresh skin.

People moved about in the refugee camp, like ants incapable of escaping their hill, though content with their temporary asylum. Children and adults bustled past him as he set up his trusty camera, just in time enough to capture a scene of pure nature.

A lizard.

And he focused and focused, the lenses making their mechanical noises as they fell in synch with their owner's own eyes. A spec of dust made it's way into the frame, and Akihito moved vigorously to remove it from the lenses, before his target crawled away.

Upon closer inspection, the dust did not leave the frame, and with a perplexed realization, Akihito realized there was someone sneaking into his shot.

With little warning, the young boy ripped off his shirt, and let it's tatters fall to the ground. His eyes were open wide with fear and anticipation, his hand was wrapped tightly around the detonator.

“Don't-”

Akihto shot up and looked towards his left. His chest was heaving, as if he'd been held underwater, and he assumed the amount of sweat he'd accumulated on his forehead gave any unsuspecting pedestrian the idea that he was indeed submerged in a pool.

Feet away from him sat a family of four. The small children bounced a ball back and forth, and Akihito supposed the sound had recalled such gruesome memories.

Embarrassed, he muttered a silent sorry to the confused family, and felt slightly guilty when they picked their things up and relocated themselves elsewhere in the terminal.

Over the intercom, the command to begin boarding the plane spewed into the area. Akihito sighed, and attempted pushed himself off of the ground, bracing himself for the pain that came with the action.

Keiichi popped himself up with little to no complications, and offered the struggling Akihito a hand.

“When we get to Tokyo, we'll need to get that checked,” Keiichi advised, bending down to grab to photographer's things, “it's getting worse.”  
Takaba rolled his eyes again, “The doctor already prescribed medica-”

“I'm not talking about your back, Akihito,” the eccentric youth retorted grimly, “ _it's_ getting worse.”

Takaba could say nothing to dissuade his partner's accusations, as his trauma was starting to effect him more than it usually had.

He was drowning in a pool of his own memories and experiences, and his pain was dragging him down the the murky depths.

“Keiichi,” he called to the older man, who was slightly ahead of him.

Keiichi's tense shoulder's drooped down with the spoken plea, he turned around, “Yes Akihito?”

The photographer looked away, Keiichi always had a way of making him feel inferior, “How do you do it?”

Keiichi pursed his lips, and tilted his head, as if he was actually thinking about an inspirational answer, “I dunno, just don't think about it, I guess.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The orange rays bled into to clouds no longer, and the dark curtain had befallen the stage. The sun was sleeping, and he had taken his vibrant clouds with him. The moon parted the sky and had taken the scene for herself, and in her wake trailed her gown of starts.

His window was open slightly, and he leaned on the wall to get a side glance at the darkness.

Keiichi had volunteered Takaba's shoulder as his personal pillow, and since he'd come into contact with the sharp bone, his snoring could be heard through the cabin.

More than once, did Akihot have to nudge his counterpart in order to avoid trouble from the passengers or the crew, but idiots like Keihci never learned.

Thanfully, he had toned down, just slightly, and allowed Takaba time to contemplate his life.

Keiichi wanted to move the group into Syria as soon as possible. There were orphanages and hospitals that needed to be reconstructed, and Keiichi's group was one of the only societies willing to take on the dangerous task.

Not to mention, Akihito's credibility as a photographer had sky rocketed once he submerged himself into countries shredded by war and civil conflicts. His main goal had been the thrill that such a job provided, any means of forgetting Asami, but deeper into the task, he let his heart pour out to the broken souls he'd photographed, and had received much more the universal recognition.

Japan was so different from the countries he had been go. With his amount of acquired knowledge, functioning in such a “normal” country as Japan seemed near impossible.

He shut his window all the way, and leaned his head atop of Keiichi's. Perhaps it would alleviate the man's chronic snoring. He closed his heavy eyelids, and breathed in the earthy scent of Keiichi's dyed hair. The enticing aroma worked its way into his nostrils, and deep into his brain.

Japan still remained miles away, meaning that the irritate sensation in Akihito's back would return with time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“ _Shalom mar! What is it!?,” a child, no older than ten, ran towards Akihito on the sandy trail, dragging his friend behind them as they came to inspect the odd object in which the photographer was presently setting up._

“ _Is it a-a...what is it again?” the small girl, dark skinned girl behind the boy asked, her voice muffled by the headscarf, “tell us, please!”_

_He shot them a smirk as he set up his camera, “It's a camera,you haven't seen one before?”_

_The tiny girl shook her head vigorously, and wrapped her arms around the kneeling photograph's waist, “For what does it_No, what does it do, right?” she looked towards him for approval, as the little English she learned came from that of the volunteer workers who offered their service at the camp._

_Not all of it was the best, some more broken than hers. But she was trying hard._

_She and her brother wanted to be free._

_So Takaba's praise meant everything to her. He could relate, his English had excelled tremendously over the last month, in fact, it was all he spoke.  
“Yeah, it's good, just slow down a bit okay,” he advised, “and don't sound so nervous.” _

_She squealed in delight at his compliment, and buried her tiny fingers into his side as her hug tightened._

“ _You will stay forever, Aki-Akihito?” pleading, her large doe eyes locked with his, “You will not leave?”_

“ _Eliana,” the boy began from behind his sister, “Akihito must go. When he has nothing else to do with us he must go.”_

“ _In a plane?” she titled her large head, “You will be watching us from the clouds?”_

“ _Naen Eliana, do not pester him though,” the boy, Aaban advised his younger sister, “let him do his work.”_

“ _But what is it for?” she revisited her initial question, as she pushed away from the Japanese man and pointed at the camera, “what does it do?”_

“ _It takes pictures, like this,” he turned on the flash and snapped a shot of the distant sand, gaining a surprised reaction from both Eliana and Aaban, “and they come up on the screen. Like this.”_

_He lowered his camera to give them a better perspective._

_The children looked upon the metal box with such excitement, and Akihito even gave them the chance to shoot photos for themselves._

_Takaba took pictures of them as well. The best ones were the ones the children never posed for though, the pictures that captured them looking into the distance, upon hilly mounds of sand and rubble._

_They thought of their future, blowing away like the stray sand fluttering in the wind._

_A gust whipped through the small area that the trio resided in, taking Eliana's headscarf with it._

_Her long curly hair bounced in the wind, and his short curly hair danced with hers._

_At this, Aadan removed his own red scarf from around his neck, and handed it to Eliana._

_Akihito took the picture._

“ _Don't get attached to them,” Keiichi had warned him before he started the job, “they’ll be gone in a second.”_

_Akihito didn't believe that, didn't believe that these children would die. He felt responsible for their success._

“ _Shalom,” spoke Eliana as she waved goodbye, her bright eyes sparkling“We must go and eat. Please come and eat with us later.”_

“ _Salaam,” replied Aaban,slightly void of emotion. Akihito didn't respond with the common phrase, and instead, waved the children off with a lingo of his own._

“ _Ja'ne,” he called out._

_Eliana turned around from up ahead, and waved eccentrically towards Akihito._

_Aaban continued to walk forward, his gaze glued to his surrounding. Akihito worried about Aadan, he worried that the life he lived in the past was eating away at him now._

_Little did he know, that Aaban was already gone._

_OOOOOO,OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO_

A gentle speed bump roused him out of his sleep, and he jumped slightly against Keiichi's sleeping body. He looked out of the taxi window.

Just hours ago, their plane had landed, and they stepped into the late hours of Japan.

Now, they were deep into the heart of Tokyo.

Nudging Keiichi, he adjusted himself, so that his back was turned away from the window, and looked out towards the scenery.

Japan was lit with multicolored lights all around, colorful cars were parked everywhere on the streets, thousands of pedestrians walked by, dressed in gaudy dresses, and expensive suits.

Takaba had sampled this world before, had savored the sweet taste of wealth, and smelled the pungent scent of power that hung about all those who maintained their rank.

He was never meant to be _in_ their ranks, and Asami's harsh rejection had drilled that idea deep into Takaba's skull.

Up ahead, the tall structure of Club Sion could be seen, it's lights glowing the brightest of all.

As they drove past the Club, Takaba looked away.

He couldn't wait for Syria.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“Wanna catch a bite to eat for lunch tomorrow? I haven't had any Japanese food in ages! And we're Japanese! We can go get a bowl of ramen or even sushi!” Keiichi spoke happily, as he walked Akihito to his apartment, “I'll come pick you up at around the afternoon time?”

He considered his back pain, and his minimal insomnia.  
“Yeah, if I don't get bad jet lag,” he responded, throwing his small bag, and camera case over his shoulder, “I wouldn’t mind a bit of Sushi.”

It was his favorite after all.  
Keich followed Akihito upstairs to his apartment. As far as exteriors went, nothing had changed.

If anything, the paint on his door had been chipped slightly, and a small pile of old mail had accumulated by his door mat.

He fiddled in his pocket for a short while, found his golden key, and stuck it into the keyhole.

Upon opening the door, both coughed at the amount of dust that greeted them.

He was completely taken aback by the floating mess.

Had he been gone for that long? Had be been avoiding his past, so that it looked like the living no longer sought to occupy his small home?

How long had he been denying himself his happiness?

“It's like I’ve been gone for ages!” Takaba exclaimed, as he turned his light on and wadded away the thin cloud of dust particles, “I've got a lot of work to do!”

Keiich coughed, and sniffled just slightly.

“Precisely _,_ imagine how my apartment looks, anyway,” he patted Takaba on the shoulder, “I'll see you tomorrow, at noon! _Shalom!”_

He hesitated, Keiichi, just slightly before he left left. Most likely waiting for Takaba to return the same greeting.

But he was no idiot, Takaba hadn't greeted him like that for months. Not since those kids started dying.

Keiichi shook his head, and left.

Takaba felt slightly relieved when Keiichi left him to his own devices. His friend had been helpful, yes, but ever since he'd began showing signs of “trauma”, as the purplette loved to call it, Keiichi wouldn't get off of his back.

But what Keiichi failed to realize, was that Takaba's entire personality was the product of the said “trauma”, though it differed from the kind Keiichi was used to, as far as personal experience went.

From the moment he had fallen into Asami's clutches, and been so rudely disposed of , like some sort of secret mistress, all chances of normality had been prohibited to him.

His extra baggage weighed him down emotionally, and his strive to rid himself it burdened him physically.

Keiich refused to see that.

The only being capable of 'helping' Akihito wanted nothing to do with him, so despite Keiichi's numerous failed attempts at friendly counseling, Akihito was showing no signs of change.

Happiness wasn't Takaba's thing, not anymore. Keiichi just did not understand.

Shuffling into his pocket, he removed the near empty bottle of pain pills, as his back pain was worsening now that the effects of his previous dosage was begging to wear off.

Taking two red capsules dry, he made his way to his restroom, and prepared for his shower.

Oooo

Up until the last few weeks, the only source of shower water happened to be freezing cold water fetched from the main drinking source in which the tiny Venezuelan village he had resided in built it's structure around. Because their group had been working to provide an efficient and clean water structure, Akihito had been the first to test the original state of their showers.

Needless to say, it felt luxurious to have the warm water pelt his aching back like large hail from a rainstorm.

He scrubbed layers of dirt and sweat away. The soap seeped deep into the scars that adorned his pale back, clumps of murky water dribbled down his face as the water tickled his blond hair.

The water washed away not only _dirt,_ but the knots of stress that had formed within him over the past couple of years.

It massaged him, put him at such a query ease. The tendrils of heat wrapped around his body, pulling him into the steam. Voiceless fingers traced over his wet body, steam touched his sacred areas with a teasing gentleness.

His heart rate slowed.

Akihito moaned, and leaned his head back slightly, receiving a pleasant pop from his neck.

However he caught himself there. He shook his head, and broke free from the lustful trance.

The steam was not Asami, and Asami was not to steam.

“ _You need to go, Akihito,”_ the harsh voice rang in his ears, _“I do not need you slandering my title, nor do I need you snooping around like a brat, and ruining my company's name”_

The voice was piercing and hurtful, so scornful and hateful. Just like the whip that had torn into his white flesh that had ripped his back to bloody ribbons.

Yet, he favored the lashing over Asami's cruel words any day. At least his unfortunate predicament was at the expense of helpless children.

“ _I do not need you to drag me down, Akihito. In fact, I do not need you at all, I think it is you who needs me.”_

_Asami's harsh words echoed throughout Akhito's head like a bomb, and suddenly the young man was standing just feet away from Aaban. Aaban the suicide bomber._

_Only a year since Eliana's death, and Aaban had turned to this?_

The water had grown hot over last few minutes, and its searing temperature yanked him out of his memories.

Salty tears mixed with the scalding water, and Akihito turned the shower off quickly.

Oooooooooooo

Like a starving artist striking his canvass with such fury, bleeding his imagination out for some sort of feeble recognition, the red marks on Akihito's pale back screamed for much needed attention.

They reflected off of the mirror, as Takaba turned his back towards the large glass pane. Snaking his arm under the other, he brought his stiff fingers to the rough marks that scattered around all corners of the raised skin.

Time had softened the scars slightly, and had taken the familiar ache with it as well. Though when his spinal pain returned, the scorching pain of his scars did as well.

He believe the latter was more psychological than it was physical, that with proper instruction regarding his mental state, he could eradicate the sensation from his psyche completely.

Drying himself off, and proceeding to complete his other nighttime activities, he began to head to his room.

He did, however, make note of the large accumulation of dust. The particles had managed to find their way onto the bristles of his toothbrush, onto his bar of soap, which had shrunken to a smaller size, and had found its way onto the top of all of his restroom surfaces.

He would need to sanitize his apartment before he went out with Keiichi for lunch, but that would need to wait until tomorrow.

Exhaustion was an understatement, he was fatigued.

He crept towards his room, ignoring the cob webs that had formed in the corners of the hallways, and up on the ceiling. He would deal with those tomorrow.

Surprisingly, his small boxers hung off of his bony hips like raw meat, and even his shrunken tank top felt large on him than it usually did.

Self care had not been one of his top priorities.

Upon realizing that his camera was in his small sitting room, he decided to change his course and head towards the couch.

Tonight seemed like an excellent night to get lost in his memories. He felt that tonight, he could control them, somewhat/

OOOOOOOOOOOO

The best pictures were those which no one posed for. The pictures that captured the small, rare moments of life at its best, the pictures that captured the humanity in its subjects.

He had many of those stored into his camera rolls.

Resting on his couch, he scrolled the many moments he had successfully captured. Different faces of different races filled zoomed through the camera as he flipped to new images.

The majority of photos that had been taken featured many different children from the numerous villages and camps that the group had visited.

Each old face rekindled a distant spark, a distant memory or thought.

A came upon an image of two dark skinned children working their villages new water pump for the first time. The area, that had been dirty before, was clean and the foliage well trimmed, the small houses had been refurnished to the best of their ability.

And two children had strayed away from the celebration party, the one marking Takaba's last day in the small village, and decided to test the pump out for themselves.

He followed them, in secret, and snapped photo's of their little adventure.

He scrolled past the next one, and smiled at another photo.

 **{** This one was in Afghanistan, in the center of a small camp being set up for orphans. It was one of his first jobs, so he scrolled through next batch of pictures carefully. He savored the faces, and the vivid moments that he had captured on his camera.

Like before, there were nothing but children, children locked in time. However, man of these children were no longer living.

He passed a familiar picture, the one that hurt the most.

Aaban handed Eliana his red scarf.

“ _I'll be watching over you in the clouds now?”_

Akihito shook the haunting question out of his head, but they had a way of returning to him whether he liked it or not.

_Eliana was dying. Her tiny body resembled that of a sea sponge, bulled holes crawled up her neck, and dark liquid soaked her heavy clothing._

_Akihito had seconds with her before she was gone completely. She was shaking, struggling to breath, struggling to move in his arms, but she was losing too much blood._

_Naturally tan, her skin tone resembled that of watered down coffee, and she was only getting lighter._

_The blood was pumping out of her like crazy._

_It was leaking on Takaba's clothing._

“ _I-i'll be w-watchng you in the clouds now? I'll be over you, Aki!” a stray trail of blood trickled down her cracked lips, and onto her chin. Akihito was just thankful she was no longer in pain, “At h-home...w-with the a-angels.”_

_He wasn't religious, but he wasn't a jerk, so he nodded, and brushed a sweaty strand of curly hair from her face._

“ _Sh-shalom,” she whispered, as her hazel eyes fluttered closed, and with her strength, she lifted a tiny finger, and pulled at his shirt, “D-don't f-forget...”_

There was nothing he could do, and the medical experts, who had arrived an hour after the attack, reminded him that more than every.

But anyone who found themselves the center of a fatal disaster often thinks of thing they could have done better, thinks of the hings they didn't do.

Akihito was no different. That had been the first time he watched a child die, and witnessed her tiny life escape from her tattered body.

It was like he died at that moment, like his life was slowly being sucked away as she closed her big eyes.

He puked after that, he couldn't eat for days.

With a flip of the screen, the image was gone, though his anxiety still snubbed at his bruised ego.

He began to breeze past other images.

At some point during the night, his small task led him the very depths of his camera roll, ages before he began partaking in Keiichi's mission trip.

Old, rich stained the digital screen, shady drug deals, and even shadier weapons deals stained his camera. He scoffed, and strongly considered erasing the offending material from his storage card, but decided against it, as the fatigue was dragging him upon a steady slumber.

He continued on though, disgusted in the targets he had once been obsessed with. His mind had been smaller back then, he had remained within himself, he strove to rise to _their_ ranks. _His_ ranks.

His face grew hotter as he felt he was getting closer.

Already, he had come upon a picture of the wealthy Chinese mafia leader, and had hastily pressed the button in order to switch the slide.

He gazed at a few old geezers, dressed in expensive three piece suits, and sporting thick pipes grazed the slides occasionally. Their smoke placed a thin film on his lenses, and the photos came out slightly foggy.

Lights peeked through the dark curtains within the next series of pictures, silhouettes peeked through the dark scenery. Women and men of the elite class loitered around the extravagant space, like lions occupying a watering hole.

The photographer sighed. This was in Club Sion.

Further exploitation would result in mental, face-to-face confrontation with the cruel bastard who had thrown his life into such turmoil.

He dared to defy his own caution, as his stubbornness was his best advice-giver.

He knew exactly where the picture was taken, what the image contained.

And as he scrolled to it, the couch suddenly evaporated into the thin air, and suddenly, expensive leather filled Takaba's small apartment. He could smell the synthetic smell.

No longer did he wear his worn out boxers, and faded tank top that had been neglected with time. No, large tendrils of cigarette smoke engulfed his entire body, brushing his being with its soft fingers, staining his pale skin and dying it murky dark.

The smoke fabricated around his figure, lifting up mere seconds after it had clothed him with an expensive suit.

The pungent smell came next. Dry tobacco and wet cologne clashed against one another, seeping into the dark smog that had risen around Club Sion.

Enter the voices, the busty women, who smelt of sex and drugs, and next the men, who held the golden leash of society, and forced it to its knees and bid to their will.

He scanned the crowd for his Yaukza.

However, Asami wasn’t one to mingle with the “common” lot. His kind species of man remained difficult to discern from the common wealth.

Takaba walked through the growing crowd of individuals, ignoring the pompous glances that the occasional rich man shot at him when he would roughly bump them on their shoulder.

The air was stuffy, as the unhealthy mixture of perfume and tobacco had poisoned the contained atmosphere. He pulled on the damp corner of his suit, as the room temperature was rising at an incredibly fast rate, the heat was bearing down upon him like the desert sun.

Cool sweat began to trickle down his exposed skin, while that which remained covered singed underneath the luxurious cotton.

Suddenly, the bar appeared before him, and a ghostly hand slid a cool glass of beer down the endless surface. Despite it's ferocious speed, Takaba managed to grab glass before it fell into oblivion. Boldly, he brought the glass to his mouth.

He made to drown the hard liquid, but a stern voice behind him stopped him.

“ _Do you think you can handle **that** , Akihito? You're not entirely yourself after two bottles of beer. ” _

He didn't bother looking over his shoulder, as this scenario had replayed itself numerous times in his head.

It was amazing how all background conversation and music came to a screeching halt.

Time froze the minute Asami spoke. Even in dreams he maintained the air of authority.

“ _Why do you even care?”_ he Takaba returned, with his back turned to the figure, “ _I don't even like you anymor_ e.”

“ _Than why do you keep coming back to Club Sion?”_

“ _Because this is my dream,_ ” he replied angrily, _“And I can do whatever the hell I want!”_

“ _Than why keep returning here, when you want to forget me? Do you still love me, my sweet kitten.”  
 **Yes, I do love you!**_

“ _Of course not, you idiot! I don't know why I even come here, my stupid head just takes me here!”_

_**I love you Asami, I miss you!** _

“ _Then leave.”  
“I can't.”_

“ _ **I can't!”**_

His eyes fluttered open, as the heart wrenching shrill within his brain echoed through the silent apartment.

He looked around his empty apartment living to assure his solitude.

 

Then he turned to look at his camera. Asami was plastered on the screen.

It wasn't a rarity to find that even while lucid dreaming, his heart led him back to Club Sion. Nor was it a rarity to feel that familiar, aching bulge in the center of his pants

If a mere dream with Asami was enough to arouse Takaba as it had done so now, he feared for their actual confrontation, if they were ever to have one.

“Shit, we'll have one,” Takaba cursed under his breath., “We _need_ to have one.”

And shamefully, he made to ease the bulge that throbbed painfully inside of his boxers.

Ooooooooooooooo

The apartment was dustier than he had initially believed, and he worked like a slave to return it to it's previous state. The moment he began dusting the shelves, clouds of dust floated into the air, irritating Akihito's eyes, and filling his lungs with contaminated oxygen. Once or twice, he passed a photograph of Asami, and had angrily slammed it face down.

Now, he coughed and coughed, mucus rose in his throat, clogging his nasal passages, causing his eyes to squint painfully as stray particles assaulted their wet surfaces.

He sneezed, and inhaled another cloud of harmful vapors, and then sneezed again.

By now, his head was hurting like hell, his nasal passages were clogged with snot, and his sight was blinded by tears and dust.

He felt like he was suffocating, so quickly, he ran to the nearest window, and forced it open.

Like a hoard angry bees, the clouds shot out of the open window, paving way for pure air. Takaba savored the sensation, and inhaled as much clear air as possible.

With the window open, his view of the parking lot was clear, save for the thin layer of dust that fluttered under the sun.

There weren't many cars lined up below, just a couple, and a few motorbikes.

It was still the early morning, though he assumed that many of his neighbors had gone to work, so it was no surprise that the parking lot was near empty.

However, when he looked again, it was evident that there was a man standing in the near vacant lot.

He squinted his watery eyes.

It was Keiichi.

But his body language was slightly off. He bounced back and forth on his heels, his hands buried deep within his pocket, as if he was trying to keep them from waving around. He leaned back and fourth, obviously suppressing the urge to leap for joy.

A goofy grin was plastered on his face, and Takaba took a keen notice of his attire.

He was wearing a suit, an expensive one. Takaba could see that, even with his cloudly vision.

“Keiichi?!” he called down to the purple streaked man, “You're,” Takaba looked anywhere for an indication of time, and found his old alarm clock resting on his nightstand, “three hours early!”

“Haha, I know!”Keiichi bellowed as he cupped a hand to the side of his face, and his smile grew, “but it's for a good reason!”

Takaba sniffed, and ran a hand under his running nose “I”m in the middle of cleaning, you know!”  
“Haha, I know!” he responded, his grin stretching, “But be down here in ten minutes!”

Completely flabbergasted at Keiichi's utter ignorance regarding Takaba's problem, the photograph had half the mind to shut the window, “WHAT?!”

“Come down here, and you'll see! But put something nice on. Oh!” Keiichi snapped his finger in excitement as he remembered what he needed, “and bring your camera!”

Takaba rolled his eyes, though part of him was anxious to hear what Keiichi was hiding from him.

“Fifteen minutes!” he retorted with a smirk of his own, as he rumbled his thorat “and we better still be going out to get sushi!”

He turned away from the window, only to hear Keiichi call to him, “Oh, it's gonna be much better than sushi!”

Takaba paused at those words, though resumed his stride seconds later. It was just that, whenever Keiichi got his head high up in the clouds, it was usually over something...idiotic, and not to mention,

when Keiich had his head wrapped around an idea, it was incredibly hard to deter him from that path.

Takaba only hoped that Keiich was not planning anything stupid.

The guy was as gullible as hell.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Keiichi tenderly nursed the new forming soft spot on the top of his head with one hand, while the other remained glued to the steering wheel. With quivering lips, and large watery eyes, he stared ahead at the road, and did not dare to speak at angry photographer beside him in the passengers seat.

“Don't look so innocent,” Takaba spat, his arms crossed, and position slightly slouched, “No one told you to insult my suit.”

A battle ensued on Keiichi's face, as he fought the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness next to him.

“I-I told you to wear something “nice”, he said quietly, in an attempt to hide the shakiness In his voice, “not some patchy pajamas. When was the last time you wore that costume anyway, your shichi go san?”

Akihito turned towards him. The photographer's face flushed bright red, and he stared at the driver wide eyed.

Keiich could no longer contain his laughter, and despite the throbbing pain that came with Akihito's vengeful fist, this snickering filled the small chamber.

“Aww, shut up!” Though angry, Takaba decided against smacking his friend across the face again, “you know, Keiichi, I could say a lot about you! I mean, look at your hair color! That's not natural. A-and all those ear piercings! I'm surprised you don't have nose_”  
“I'm actually planning on getting nose piercings, so continue,” his laughter had been hidden behind the solemn look he sported, only to further aggravate the younger man.

Nervous, with little ammo left, he went off on insulting the rest of Keiichi's awkward appearance.

“A-and your nails! They're always some different color!” He finished, clinging to what little shots he had left, “So, yeah, you shouldn’t be insulting me!”

Now it was Keiichi's turn.

“Well,” Keiich began, his voice hinging on the verge of laughter, “I chose to look like a “wild-child” as you said, but you don't choose to have patches on your suit. That's just poor care right there, you've got a moth problem! Obviously.”

The photographer made an impatient noise.

“What did you want to tell me again, and where are you driving us?” Takaba quickly changed the subject before he lost the small ounce of self control he had left.

Keiichi smirked, “Well, when I got home last night, I got a call. But not just any call, a call from a possible donor, whose willing to contribute a lot of cash to our Syria trip.”

Takaba sighed, “Have you even gotten that finalized yet, I mean, you obviousl_”  
“I was up all last night getting it settled, sending out texts and emails, and whatnot’s. Everyone is willing to go, its just the date that may be a problem. As of now, I’m looking at a six month wait.”

Takaba grunted and raised an eyebrow. “Really? That's too long. If it gets anymore dangerous than it already is, then we won't be able to get into the country.”  
Keiich nodded, “True. The civil war is escalating, but people are dying,” Keiichi shook his head angrily, “And it pisses me off that we're stuck here, not being able to do anything.”

“What about the church organization we're working with?”  
“They don't feel comfortable granting our access into Syria, at least not with our names on their hands. If we die, it'll fall on them,” Keiichi replied, and Takaba could detect a small hint of distaste in his voice, “they don't want us to damaged their credibility.”

“We have at least one private jet, Ernia is a pilot, she can fly,” Takaba dragged one of the members into the conversation, hoping that he and Keiich could devise a way out of their mess.

But Keiichi shook his head.

“No can do. Ernia hasn't flown in years. Not to mention, her “jet” plane isn't in the best of conditions_However,” the excitement picked back up within Keiichi's voice, “this money can help us. We can get our resources, perhaps even pay off the organization we're working for, so that they can fund our Syria trip.”

Takaba closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the seat, “So I'm guessing,” his voice was strained slightly, as he turned his head upwards, “We're going to go and meet this guy?”

Keiichi chuckled, “Yeah, and be on your best behavior. We're meeting at some expensive restaurant in Shinjuku, apparently it just opened a couple of weeks ago, so a lot of “rich” people are gonna be there,” he warned, “and be prepared to answer questions, a lot of them.”

Takaba's eyes shot open, and he yanked his head from it's position against the seat head, and stared at Keiichi, “I'm answering questions?! But you-”

“I know, and if you feel uncomfortable, step out, okay. But as the photographer, you've got a crap load of good stuff. So try your best, okay?”  
Reluctantly, Akihito nodded, “Okay.”

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He adjusted the dark satin tie around his neck, pulled ar the straight edges of insides of his jacket, and made other needed modifications to the rest of his business attire.

A cold golden gaze looked back at him from their position on the mirror. The gaze was so intense and intruding, that the mere action left him slightly uneasy.

As of recent, he felt similar to the groundhog who feared it's own shadow, except, he was weary of his own reflection.

He supposed that his reasoning for such an odd phobia resided in the deep chambers of his mind, the one that locked away his selfish desire.

Every morning of mirror gazing felt eerily similar to peering sharply into the ancient “Mirror of Erised”, only Asami sought to debunk his wants.

He told himself numerous times that Takaba was not standing beside him, or behind him, or in front of him. That when he had cut the nosy photographer out of his busy life, he should have severed the memories as well.

Except he had underestimated his own tendency to grow attached to the photographer.

He wanted Akihito to be safe, but he had no clue of the suffering that would befall him after the boy's absence.

Asami was not as strong as he believed himself to be, though his destruction occurred on the inside only. He remained the image of perfection and control, the “Top-Dog” that ruled Japan's black market, yet the loneliness his Penthouse offered him, nearly killed him more than once.

When Akihito left, he took more than his personal belongings with him, he took Asami's heart. And the older man had been too much of a fool to notice that his greatest treasure was walking out of the door, and that he himself was the cause of it.

But it was for his own good, Takaba had suffered too much, and in all honesty, Asami began to see a common trend regarding dead lovers that had fallen in the cruel past.

He could no longer lose anyone else to the Underworld.

A gentle wrapping on his bedroom door stirred him from his thought. He gave the intruder permission to enter.

It was Kirishima.

“We're ready when you are, sir,” the bodyguard advised his boss, “your luncheon will begin in a little under an hour.”  
Asami ran a hand through his slicked back hair, “I will be out shortly.”  
Kirishima nodded in a respectful manner, and left his boss to himself.

Asami was unfortunate enough to have his fair share “kiss asses”. His pawns would go to great lengths to receive his honorable recognition, and these lengths included inviting him to every other dinner party they hosted.

For the first time in ages, his schedule actually granted him a free space.

He decided the luncheon would be a nice change for him, as opposed to the long hours he spent in his Penthouse, locked away from the outside world.

And besides, this luncheon party was to be held at the newly opened restaurant which seemed to attract so many wealthy customers, like fresh blood to herd of leeches.

Not to mention, he had been told that the restaurant would be harboring abnormal company this afternoon. Idiots wanting to go to Syria had been invited to dine with a businessman at the restaurant. Though Asami would not not partaking in the meeting, his associate promised close seats, so they could hear of the stupidity spoken by the two youths who hosted the mission trips. And then again, he was Asami. If he to intrude, then he could do so.

If this awkward duo followed the news any they would certainly know that there was a deadly war plaguing the Syria, and that journalist, mission workers, or any foreigners were dropping dead like flies.

The two had guts, tough ones. He would give them that. And Asami was excitement to see what kind of material made such determined men.

He had an inking that perhaps his precious Akihito had something to do with this, though he accredited the thought to the assumed similarities between the personalities.

Anything regarding Takaba Akihito, he knew nothing about. Since he cast the younger man out of his home, he stopped keeping tabs on him as well. He wanted Akihito to be safe, therefore following him like a hungry panther was not an smart option.

The man growled at his sentimental thoughts.

That damned brat was also a liability, an enormous one. Had he not eradicated him he did, Asami's company would have fallen to shambles, or worse.

He himself would have been dead saving that selfish brat's ass.

His eyes looked back at his reflection , from the dull glass pane. However, Akihito's ghostly presence had dwindled away, and had been replaced with his riches and his accomplishments won without the troublesome kid by his side.

He turned around, and sighed.

A troublesome pest had been humanely dealt with, simple as that. Past that point, there was nothing more that could be said.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooo

 

He forgot to take his pain medication earlier that morning, and the only source of relieve provided was that of the two small ibuprofen pills given to him by Keiichi.

Great. A single tablet would give him four hours at most of minimal relief, at the most. Taking both of them, however, would provide enough lasting strength for a solid six hours, but after that, he'd be on his own.

Knowing the crowd he was to be mingling with, he'd surpass six hours in no time.

When at its fullest, his back pain was agonizing, but he would not resort to laying flat on the ground. Especially in front of rich people.

With Keiichi's streaked hair, and Takaba's crappy suit, the duo already looked like they didn't care about anything, so technically, rolling on the floor would be expected of people like them.

They looked like they belonged in a circus. But Takaba didn't want associate that vibe with he, or Keiich.

He decided that he would take the pills the minute he was seated in the restaurant, and given a drink. Preferably water.

Letting out a painful sigh, he allowed his back to fall in tune with the curvature of the car seat. He moved his shoulders up and down, in order to release some built up tension that the pain was starting to cause.

With closed eyes, he let his head fall to his right shoulder, allowing the warmth of the window to brush up against his skin.

His scars pulled at the fabric underneath his suit jacket, as sticky sweat began to accumulate in tight areas of his clothes.

Keiichi drove over a pothole, and both he and Akihito jumped slightly.

His camera bounced in his lap.

“ _Asami...can I ask you a question?”_

His eyes fluttered open slightly, and he wondered why his mind was drifting back to such distant memories.

“ _Hmm?”  
_ Akihito didn't know why he allowed himself to ponder on such a moment. He had perfect control of his thought process, which was surprising, because he hadn't had much control of anything regarding his brain since last night, and even then, he broke his restriction. 

He felt like he was wasting it, this chance to just dose off with little reminder of his shitty life.

“ _Don't laugh at me for asking this,” he blushed, “But why don't you have scars? I mean, you're like...I don't know. I would think that someone like you would have a lot of scars.”  
Asami actually looked slightly puzzled by the question, if only for a second. But his expression melted into a rather amused look, and he bore a playful smirk _

_The older man sat on the couch, just after a shower, so he wore his thick white rob, and in his free hand held a bottle of beer._

_His other hand threaded its fingers in Akihito's soft hair, massaging the scalp and pulling softly at the feathered strands. From his position on the fluffy carpet, Takaba leaned on the older mans knee, and closed his eyes as Asami rubbed his head._

“ _I do have scars,” and his tone dropped slightly, as if he was reminiscing on something far away._

_He paused, and the massage stopped._

_Akihito looked up rather annoyed, “But I-”_

“ _There are scars, but you just cannot see them.”_

“ _You mean like, they faded away?”  
Asami chuckled, and resumed the calming magic atop of Akihito's head, _

“ _Yes, I suppose so.”_

When Asami had given him the answer he wanted, he hadn't dwelled much upon the hidden meaning under the older man's words. But now, when he himself had experienced scars of his own, even worse than those received in Honk Kong, he felt slightly guilty for not being able to sympathize with the Yakuza.

But then again, he wondered if it bothered Asami as much as it bothered Akihito now. He didn't like the thought of Asami harboring emotional scars that he wasn't willing to share with Akihito.

His own scars tingled slightly on his back, and the vivid memory of the angry lashes that adorned his back flooded into his mind.

Now, he had no control of what came through.

_It wasn't even an act of the Shari'a law, just the evil deeds of middle aged owner who had nothing better to do than to antagonize starving children._

_The sun hung at its highest in the sky. Keiichi and the others had advised him to wear thick clothing, as the winds would carry sharp grains of sand that would cut his skin to shreds. However, his ego obscured his reasoning once again, and he decided against wearing layers in the desert._

_It seemed stupid._

_Rather, he wore a thin, white long sleeve, cotton polo, and a pair thick, dark jeans._

_He considered wearing his trusty tank top, but the laws here regarding modesty were so strict, that he wasn't entirely sure what kinds of things he could wear._

_However, his westernized choice was not the best option. Already, his eyes had watered with irritation from the burning sand, the grains had wriggled their way into his soft clothing, and stuck to him like glue as a result of the sticky sweat._

_Not to mention, he was thirsty, his throat was dry and he had to pee, badly._

_Presently, he stood in a populate area, and was adjusting his camera. However, his damaged vision, and the sharp sand blowing against his exposed skin made it nearly impossible to complete his task._

_His eyes were watery, he was sniffling madly, and clearing his throat in order to expel the dirt that had mysteriously lodged its way into his breathing passage._

“ _Capture the daily life of the people!” Keiich had recommended, “they're an interesting bunch!”_

_He assumed that any group of individuals that ostracized themselves in a vacant dust bowl would be an “interesting” bunch._

_The sun probably burned their brains out, and took their sense along with it._

_So there Akihto was, setting up his camera stand in the middle of the “village square” ._

_There were people everywhere._

_To his side, was a row of small shops, bells rang as doors opened and closed. Dark skinned pedestrians walked out an thanking the cooks for their food in their native language._

_On the other side, there were food stands, vegetable and fruits stands. Further on, exotic jewelry was put on display for the vigilant eye. His father was a history junky, perhaps he'd buy something from here for his dad._

_People pushed past him, bumped into him and cursed out him to get out of the way._

_He calmed his nerves, and considered taking his things and leaving._

_The temperature was too hot, the people were too rude, and he had to pee._

_People were shuffling beside him, kicking sand on his jeans, dirtying the precious fabric._

“ _To hell with this,” he groaned, as he began debunking his stand. Screw his dad's gift, he didn't have time for this. This wasn't even a job! He was just doing this to do it!_

_While forcefully took apart the stand, a scuffle broke out near one of the stands. Through his irritate eyes, he watched as an apple stand owner chased two children into the street, both harboring a tunic full of apples._

“ _Thieves,” he muttered to himself, as he looked away with squinted eyes, and continued his task._

_Bystanders had formed a small crowd around the scene, as the shop owner kicked the children into the small clearing._

_Like he himself had said initially, the crowd started chanting in their native language, and bore a cruel and unkind tone. Eventually, people stopped shoving past him, and they migrated the the scene like rodents._

_The crowd was slightly larger now, and the people stood so tall, with their stone faces, that he could no longer see the children from his space on the street._

_The chanting grew louder, and more fierce within seconds. Akihito tilted on his heels, leaned back and fourth, and tried to look over the growing bunch._

_What the hell was happening?  
And then a sound so potent, like a striking bolt of lightning ripped through the chanting. Seconds later, two blood curdling screams broke through the silence, and the crowd jeered. _

_He jolted forward, yet his inner self held him back._

“ _Run Aki! You don't know wha-”_

_Another scream pierced the jubilant chanting, and in seconds, Akihito had forced himself into the group. His hand was on another a male bystander's shoulder in a second, he yanked him out of his way, and was shocked at to see the same shared expression._

_The man's eyes were dark with hate, hate for two small children._

_The screaming grew louder the closer he got, the he could here the lash tearing through fabric, and soft flesh._

_With each strike, blood and sand mixed._

_It beat on the ground with such a ferocity, lifted into the air with such a force, and came barring down on its two small victims._

_He could see now, that their clothes were nearly in tatters, a steady pool of blood was beginning to form under them._

_The crowd jeered like angry animals. They stomped, and clapped like barbarians.  
Takaba could smell the blood, and It made his stomach lurch. The children's small clothing had been stained crimson with gore. Their hands, that they had used to protect their heads with, here plastered with bloody soars, that leaked juice into the sand._

“ _Stop it” Akihito whispered. Though the plea was two-sided._

_His conscience begged him to stand his ground, to turn away and leave this bloody scene._

_The whip cracked again, and the children wailed in pain._

_He was never good at listening to reason, not even from himself._

_With little hesitation, he sprang towards the insane shop owner, and grabbed the hand which held the whip. The children were so weak, they didn't even realize that they were being saved._

_His one second of distraction had cost him the fight. Much to Akihito's dismay, the shop owner was older, and stronger._

_With little effort, he had slid his wrist out of Akihito's grip, and had thrown the photographer to the ground._

_He lifted his hand like a vengeful grim reaper, and suddenly, the scene around Akihito felt much darker._

_From the perspective of the children, the scenario was entirely surreal. He felt as if he were in a hellish pit, as if these cruel bystander's were condemning him for a crime he did not commit._

_The fiery whip bore down once more, but this time, Akihito had pulled the two bloody children next to him, and put them under him._

_The force of the stinging whip was like fire to snow. It tore through his white cotton blouse, ripped through his pale skin, and ripped of flesh as it was harshly lifted up._

_It happened again, and Akihito bit back a shout._

_The children underneath him were dying, their eyes rolling to the back of their heads. His own salty tears mixed with their copper blood, and he felt himself losing consciousness as well._

_With each fiery pelt, he clenched his fist. His blood mixed with the sand, and and stained the pale faces of the dying children below him._

_And that was how he met Eliana and Aaban._

“-hito, we're here,” Keiichi's soft voice wedged its way into his memory.

For a second, Takaba's back felt like it was on fire, again. He shuffled around, looking for blood, and looking for two dying children below him.

His heart sank to his stomach, and his head began to swim.

“Takab-”  
“Where are they?!” he looked around, his arms were shaking as he struggled to free himself of the seat belt, and look under the seats.

“Takaba!” Keiichi grabbed his friend's arm, and was appalled by the force in which he neglected the friendly invitation.

With a hand suspended dumbly in the air, Keiichi scowled at the pathetic scene.

“You won't find Eliana, or Aaban!” he said finally, wanting no more of Takaba's insanity, “They're dead! _Remember.”_

With those words, reality hit him like a speeding car to a solid brick wall. His heart rate slowed, and the fogginess in his head evaporated.

He suddenly felt very stupid, and the pain in his back had returned ten fold.

There was a momentary silence.

Keiichi watched as his friend struggled to maintain his composure, and appear as normal as possible. His fingers crawled to the camera, and he instinctively began tapping atop of the object, just to assure its existence.

“Do we need to go back?” Keiichi asked honestly, “we can-”  
“No, not on my account. L-let's just get out,” Takaba barely managed. Quickly, he put his camera strap around his neck, and turned to open the door.

For a second, he struggled with the car door, pulling and pushing at the handle. His palms were sweaty, and he was losing his grip. Literally.

He was losing his cool.

“It's locked,” Keiichi informed him silently, but said louder: “It's locked.”  
“Oh, ah...okay. Ha,” Takaba giggled nervously, as he fiddled with the lock button. The moister on his fingers made the task a hundred times harder, and the dismay was written all over his face.

Keiichi unlocked to door for him, and watched as the younger man pranced out of the car like an excited deer.

Just then, Keiich caught sight of a dark vehicle hovering into the parking lot. And perhaps the speed wasn't entirely fast, but the fact that his wayward friend had so carelessly hopped into the center of the street had made appear as if the car going at a hundred miles an hour.

With little time to spare, Keiichi unbuckled his seat belt, torpedoed out of the passenger's seat, and collided with Akihito, just in time to push him out of the way, and onto the ground, before the dark bullet ended his existence.

Takaba's back collided with the hot concrete, his head smacked on the surface so hard that a tremor ran through your head, and sizzled into his jaw.

Takaba let out a silent wail, as the pain was so intense, he could find no voice to scream.

Meanwhile, Keiichi eyed the dark BMW that had slowed down slightly, to belittle the two idiots that had caused a commotion in the center of the parking lot.

The window was down a little bit, just enough to expose the cold, golden gaze of the wealthy man inside.

Atop of the heaving photographer, Keiichi sized the man up with his own stern gaze, and watched slowly as the car pulled off.

From the clear window of the driver's seat, he could see sharp looking individual, with dark gelled back hair, and smart looking glasses.

They drove off, and Keiichi was unaware that he had just issued a challenge with one of Japan's most powerful men.

When his temper sizzled down, he winced slightly at Takaba's camera, that had been firmly molded into his stomach after his heroic jump to save his friend.

“K-Kei...my b-back!” the younger man huffed from under him, helplessly flailing his arm to push the other one off, “G-get off!”  
  


 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I last updated this May 6! I'm sorry, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Takaba was in agony. Keiichi was stressed. And they were ten minutes late.

Not to mention, the small scuffle that had ensued when Keiichi had so selflessly rescued his friend from the speeding driver, had resulted in their clothes being soiled and dirtied by the concrete dust.

They looked unraveled.

Now their next obstacle was lifting Akihito off of the ground.

“On the count of three,” Keiichi breathed, red in the face and panting heavily, as he reattempted to remove Takba from the ground, “I'll pull you up!”  
However, Takaba shook his head vigorously, and slapped Keiichi's hand away every time it fought to take Takaba's own.

Even the slightest movement sent a chilling sensation through his back, that seconds later, melted into an aching pain. Keiichi's help was not appreciated, nor was it actually helpful.

After another minute of tugging, and having his hand slapped away, so that it's pale skin was now tingly and red, Keiichi just about decided to give up.

He plopped to the dirty ground, not caring that the bottom of his expensive suit would be soiled with dust and pebbles. He could just brush it off later.

He looked up towards the bright blue dome, and squinted his eyes as the sun brushed their watery surface.

Takaba seemingly did the same, as he could avert his eyes nowhere else.

He was forced to welcome the blue.

Keiichi placed a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder, and squeezed it softly.

“Come on Akihito, get up,” he spoke as a parent did to a shamed child, a child who was to fearful to face their caretaker, a troubled child, “You've been through worse than this.”  
 _“come on Akihito! Get up! We've been throu-”  
The able group of young men and woman ducked as a swarm of bullets flew above head. Takaba had fallen back amongst the many, and had his trusty camera glued to his face. _

_They ran like horses through a country tattered by violence. Dust kicked up as the group ran faster and faster. Sweat and dirt clanged to Takaba's face, his damp clothes felt heavy against his running body, and the urge to stop and rip them off had crossed the photograph's mind more than once. They were just a distraction, painful and itchy as shards of sand had lodged its way into the garments._

_The dust made it hard to breathe, and even with the expensive camera as a telescope, it stood no chance against the angry particles. He could hardly see anything._

_Through the dusty lens he could see them. The large white flags beat in the wind, the sun shone through their torn woolen, and bullets continued to rip the fabric to shreds._

_Still, the white prevailed. Yet victory was not theirs._

_Another gun shot erupted, and a flag fell with the body that held it. Both Keiich and Takaba jumped over the rolling body, and narrowly missed the bouncing flag.  
“They're not_” Takaba ducked as a bullet flew like fire above his head, “taking the surrender very well!” _

_Keiichi huffed beside him, “I-I know!” he shouted, as another bulled tore through one of the flags above them, “And I think we're running out of flags!”_

_And they were. Their small “Freedom run” as Keiichi had called it, piloted with four brave souls agreeing to run through the war torn area, with large white flags, thus initiating a surrender._

_Only two remained._

Takaba wasn't aware he was standing until the pain throbbed dully in his back, yet Keiichi stood beside him, holding him up and allowing him to lean on him.

“If you want to go back, we can,” said the purple haired man, “I can-”  
“The pills,” panted Akihito, who hunched over as he stepped away from Keiichi, “Get me the pills!”

Keiichi didn't hesitate. Quickly, he went back into the car, shuffled through the seat, and found the pill bottle. Giving it a shake, he darted as he ran back to Takaba, who was struggling to stand.  
“Got them!” Keiichi said proudly. Takaba nodded, took the bottle, opened it and swallowed to two pills dry. He closed his eyes as their dry coating came into contact with his wet throat.

He brought a fist to his mouth as he forced the muscles in his throat to chug down the solid tablets.

After what seemed like hours, he manage to chug them down completely. He cleared his throat, and shook his head a bit.

All the while, Keiichi looked on. He would never admit it out loud to the younger man, but he was very proud of Takaba. What started out as a Japanese kid trying to escape his past, evolved into a daring photographer who put his life behind all others, and sought to expose the injustice and cruelty taking place around the globe. The boy was selfless, valiant, and brave.

The wind blew through the parking lot. Tendrils of purple hair whipped in the air, and brushed up against Keiichi's face.

Akihito stood there. Eyes closed tightly, as the wind gently pushed against him. He was stiff, and his fist were clenching and un-clenching, as if he were waiting for a wave of pain to pass through him.

His breathing was steady and deep, his jaw moving as he grinned his teeth.

The sun shone brightly above them, outlining Akihito's figure. A halo of light swallowed him, and Keiich found himself caught off guard by the stunning image.

The blue eyes fluttered open, and at the same time, the sun seemed to dim just a little bit more. The wind receded, and Takaba leaned back into the dying breeze.

The halo may be gone, but the angel remained. The heat in Keiichi's face intensified as Akihito looked towards him, though with a painful gulp, he forced the feelings away.

Takaba was just a friend. They both brushed themselves off.

“It's going away, just a bit though.” Said the photographer, as he made his way towards Keiichi, with a defining limp, “Let's just get this lunch over with.”

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“So do you carry guns with you?” From across the circular table, a middle aged man, dressed in a white suit with an open collar, questioned the two mission trip workers. In his two fingers rested a nearly burnt cigar, that reeked of intoxicating smoke.

Keiichi and Takaba sat opposite of the older man. Takaba reclined into the soft leather sofa, and allowed the flufflines to mold the couture of his spine. His camera had been passed to their host, who passed it to his bodyguards, who scrolled through the images with the curiosity of young children.

They were so different from the men employed by Asami.

“No, we don't actually,” Keiichi admitted, as he rested his elbows on the table surface, “It causes too many problems.”  
“Then how do you defend yourself?” Asked one of the bodyguards, as he passed the camera back to his boss.

Keiichi shrugged, “Hope for the best, I suppose. I mean, it's worked for me Atsushi-sama, I haven't died yet!” Keiichi laughed at that.  
Atushi took another breath of his cigar, and laughed loudly with the purplette.

“And what of you photographer? You've been oddly silent, how to you defend yourself?”

Takaba rolled his shoulder's, and pushed himself up from his slouching position. Straightener up, he placed his hands in his lap.

“I mean, it depends on the situation I guess,” he supplied, as he fiddled his fingers, “worst case scenario, we just run.”

Atsushi chuckled, and shook his cigarette into the ash tray, “These are nice shots, professional. Do you love your job?”  
The photograph beamed at the question, “Of course I do! It's one of the best things that's happened to me, Atsushi sama.”

Atsushi smirked, “You seem quite certain of yourself, huh kid? Where'd you learn your trade?”

“It's my major,” Takaba replied, “It wasn't at first though, but I was kinda...lost, a little bit of a science junkie I guess.”  
Keicihi's eyes widened.

“ _You?_ A science junkie? I never would've thought!” Keiichi chuckled, and fell back into the cushioned seat.

“What happened, what made you change your major?” Curiously questioned Atsushi.

Takaba paused for a second, and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. It shut suddenly, and the smile fell from his face. Nostalgia fluttered through his features, and the photographer sighed.

“I...time was slipping away, and I guess people were too,” his voice was distant, and cloaked in a dab of melancholy. He shrugged. “So I had to catch what I could.”

Atsushi leaned back, and deflated with a gray cloud of smoke. His bodyguards, who stood behind him, descended onto the couch at the unspoken command.

Takaba resumed his slouch.

Silence fluttered above the group. Each reflected on their own life, and wondered what kinds of people, and places that they had let disappear.

Atsushi clapped loudly, thus gaining the attention of the somber group.

“It got a little cooler, huh?” Asked the older man as he rubbed his sweaty palms together, “Hungry?”

The sadness still weighed heavily upon the men, though each muttered their desired order. And with Atsushi's persistent humor, they found themselves laughing in no time.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The sharp clap jerked Asami from his conversation.

He sat directly across from a business partner and his wife. The man was a middle aged associate, who continuously patted his balding head with a square cloth, in order to prevent the drips of sweat from trickling down his red face. The woman, who looked far too young to be this man's wife, hadn't gone five minutes without gazing at Asami. They had delved into conversations regarding plans for a new club, its location, and possible candidates for it's manager.

A few in front of them, a particular group of people had been rather rowdy and loud. Their laughter had interrupted Asami's conversation more than once, and up until recently, they had been rather silent. However, the clap had undone the temporary spell.

And after a brief moment of silence, the group had grown rambunctious again. Words like “missionary” and “gunfire” had been tossed into the air, and had successfully garnered Asami's attention.

He smiled. So this must be the missionary workers that had been rumored to be there.

“Asami-sama?” Began the man across from him, “Is something the matter?”  
The older man smiled, “No, nothing at all. Somethings just caught my attention. No need to worry, I’ll be back momentarily.”

He stood up, and with an incline of his head, motioned for his standing bodyguards to follow him. As he began his walk down the isle, he wondered if those two men who Kirishima had nearly run over had anything to do with these workers. Their body language was foreign, and from what he could see, there hair color was even more so.

It was obvious that they were strangers to formal occasions.

Walking down the isle, up ahead, he could see a young waitress taking the order of the large group. Removing a pen from behind her ear, she began to scribble on her notepad, nodding occasionally. The loudest man spoke again, and the waitress blushed.

The laughter exploded from the booth, and nearly caused the waitress to drop her notepad. Quickly, she bowed, and walked away past Asami. He didn't miss the smile creeping on her lips. And upon seeing him, the blush on her face spread considerably.

With a tiny hand to her mouth that worked to cover her blush, the small woman walked past Asami. He sidestepped her, in order to allow himself a slim passage down the isle.

When she had gone, he continued his stride towards the rather loud, talkative booth.

One voice stood out to him in particular, and he registered it as the voice of a very prominent business partner, Atsushi. And if Asami's speculations were correct, and Atsushi was indeed conversing with the mission trip advocates, than that would be very believable. The man had a thing for “lesser” countries, as he called them, and despite his shrewdness in the Underworld, he never missed the chance to spare a cent or two to those who were less fortunate than he was.

Tapping his fingers atop of the booth, Asami smiled as he looked down towards his business partner.

“Ryuichi!” Exclaimed the merry man, who looked up at his long time partner, “What brings you here today?”  
At the mention of his name, one of the men leaning back into the leather seat directly across from him shifted uneasily. Asasmi raised an eyebrow, and looked at the small figure. A curtain of blond hair fell into his face as his head bopped down towards his lap, and as he crossed his arms protectively over his abdomen.

“Oh, let me introduce you to these two. They're the missionary workers I've been telling everyone about,” exclaimed Atsushi as he and his bodyguards slid out of the seats, Atushi and offered Asami his seat. The honey eyed man graciously accepted the seat, and slid into the leather booth.

Atsushi slid in beside Asami, and immediate tried introducing the workers, who Asami recognized from the parking lot.

He chuckled , “These are the two who entertained us in the middle of the parking lot, pleased to meet you.”

The purple head man actually smiled, and rubbed the back of his head in an embarrassed manor, “Sorry about that! We just had a rough start! “

Asami nodded, "And your name is-”  
“Keiichi!” He responded, quickly, and offered a hand, “Just Keiichi.”

Asami nodded, “Asami” he firmly grabbed the man's hand, and shook it. Keiichi smiled.

“Oh, and this is my partner, his name is-”  
The blond shot up with such a fury, that Asami was surprised that he hadn't flipped the entire table. Quickly, he made his way out of the booth, down the long isle, through the glass doors, and outside.

“He's a weird one, he is,” Atsushi explained suddenly.

Keiichi nodded, “He has back problems, he's probably just stretching or something like that.”  
Atsushi beamed, “Yes Asami, look at the wonderful pictures that boy has taken, he's really got his work cut out for him! In fact...”  
Before Asami knew it, the heavy camera was in his hands, and he was scrolling through an array of pictures. While he did so, a small part of his heart ached.

He cast a glance upwards, and scanned the crowded area. Akihito was attracted to places like this, he loved them. He lived for them.

Sighing, he returned his eyes to the bright screen, and flipped past photos of children, and scenery. All of the locations were different. From boiling temperatures in a sandy dust bowl, to murky greens, draped with a thick film of humidity, the photographer had braved them all.

He continued his visual journey through the bright LED screen, and found some pictures rather unsettling. There was a fair share of blood shed that had made its way onto the film. Not to mention, slums.

Assuming these were refugee camps that had been photographed, Asami supposed that the degraded conditions of both the area and the people was explainable. However, the poor children smiled wider then the privileged children Asami had grown up around, and despite their conditions, many pictures depicted of the children showed them having the time of their lives.

The pictures themselves were spectacular, and had Akihito been around, Asami was certain that these photos would give even the photographer a run for his money.

He smiled as an image of a jealous, pouty Akihito flashed through his mind.

The price for safety was a hard price to pay, as well as the security of Asami's future.

By distancing himself from Akihito, he'd killed two birds with one stone. The boy was safe from the Underworld's crooks, and no longer was he a liability to Asami...he'd been traveling a lot though, not that the Yakuza spend every hour keeping up with him.

No, he'd done the exact opposite, and he had intended to keep it that way.

However, this camera in his hand stirred the dying embers that had nestled themselves deep into his chest, and he felt himself yearning for Akihito once again...

“And what is the name of the photographer who took these photos?” Asami found himself asking in order to dissolve the initial suspicious that came with him whenever he went into a public place like this, or on very rare occasions, he held a camera.

He was certain that this was not Akihito's camera, as the boy would not so carelessly throw himself into such a dangerous job. It was just a nagging sensation that came whenever he believed Akihito could be around, but as always, he prepared to be proved wrong.

“Takaba Akihito,” replied the purplette rather happily, “He was the one who just left. Like I said, he has back problems, so he's just gone to stretch his legs to alleviate some of the pain.”  
The atmosphere grew dense with tension, and Asami nearly dropped the camera onto his lap. Standing beside the booth, Kirishima stiffened at the mention of the former name, and cast a side glance at his boss to see what on earth he was going to do.

Asami cast a smile towards the youth, and spoke again, “Will this photographer be accompanying you on your trip to Syria?”  
Keiichi practically beamed, “Of course he will! He's a real daredevil, he is! But that's why he has back problems, because he fell! He's lucky though, the doctor's said that he should've been dead-”  
“Excuse me, I have a phone call, Kirishima, stay here.” Asami quickly excused himself, and made his way out of the booth, and into the isle.

As he walked towards the door, his emotions flared. Was this Akihito's way of getting back at him? Was he just _trying_ to spite Asami? They had separated for Akihito's safety, and now the boy was throwing himself into harms way?

The man lit a cigarette, and made his way towards the glass doors, where he knew Akihito would be standing outside of.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Akihito had retreated outside the very moment Keiichi was about to mention his name. He didn't need to see him, he didn't need to look at him. He just needed to leave.

Surprisingly, walking away from the scene had been a lot easier than he thought it would be. He supposed the reasoning for that was because he had suspected, upon entering the rather flamboyant establishment, that Asami's crowd would be loitering around. And though he leaned on the inkling of doubt that Asami wouldn't be there, he wasn't overly surprised to see that he was.

It was just better to avoid confrontation all together. Asami thought he was a liability, and didn't want to see him.

It was better this way. He was going to Syria soon, and lose ties were not an option.

His straight back rested against the cool brick that built the exterior of the restaurant. A cool breeze brushed against his face, and his blond hair brushed against the pale skin. High in the sky, the the sun was covered by a few clouds here and there, but Akihito supposed that the wind would blow them away sooner or later.

The weather was beautiful.

Beside him, the door had opened, and he assumed someone had walked out. But he didn't pay much attention to it, it didn't bother him too much.

The medication he took for his back pain wasn't working as well as he thought it would. Standing had helped a bit, though he still had occasional spouts of pain here and there.

Sighing, he let his shoulders droop as another soft gust ticked his face.

However, this breeze carried the pungent smell of smoke, cigarette smoke to be exact. Akhito's nose wrinkled slightly, and his brows furrowed as the smell grew closer, and closer. He was so comfortable, and so serene, that in all honestly, he had no intention of opening his eyes, or moving from his sun basking spot.

If this lady or gentleman wanted to be silent, and smoke beside him, Akihito would say nothing.

Another whiff, and the smell tugged at a chain in his heart. Like an old clock reawakening from years of disuse, the smell had triggered something unexpected in his heart.

Was that the scent of Dunhill?

Maybe one peek wouldn’t hurt. Besides, who wouldn't look at something that reminded them of the past, good or bad.

He just needed make sure that the smell didn't belong to who he believed it belonged to.

Gulping dryly, with the speed of a rusted tin man, he creaked his head over towards the door, and forced his weary eyes to open.

He gasped.

Like feline claws, the whips of dark smoked literally wrapped around Akihito, crawled into his mouth and filled his body, just like the man standing before him had done many times. He coughed, and his eyes watered slightly. Bringing a sleeve to his face, he quickly rubbed the tears out of his eyes, and wondered whether he was tearing up due to the smoke, or do to the sheer amount of emotion coursing through his veins.

“Akih-”

The photograph began his stride towards the door, and wrapped his sweaty hands around the large handle. Unfortunately, Asami's hand dug into his shoulder in mere seconds, and he was roughly spun around. For a second, Akihito attempted to pull himself away, but to no avail.

The sheer force of the man's grip sent pain through his back, and with the little strength he could muster against Asami, he used it to wriggle out of his hand.

“Ouch! Leave me alone!” He shouted, and was somewhat grateful that they were the only two outside, “Just go!”

Asami practically growled, as his hands latched around Akihito's arms like a hungry vulture, “Are you trying to upset me?”

“W-what the hell are you talking about Asami?!” He tried to yank his arm away, but Asami had it in an iron grip. Takaba gulped.

This was getting to be too much, and as of recent, Akihito was a screw up when it came to capping his emotions. They paved way for harsher, crueler memories that would certainly cause even Asami's eyebrow to raise.

He couldn't let Asami see that, he couldn't let him see that he was weak...it would be too much.

“What on earth has prompted you to visit war torn countr-”

“Shut up! And leave me alone!” snapped Akihito as he continued to struggle against Asami, who now held him by both arms, “It's none of your business!”

“Are you so lost without me, that you yearn to get yourself killed?” Snarled Asami, as he fought to maintain control, “Are you that suicidal?”  
Asami released Takaba's arms, and expected him to run. But he didn't .

In fact, he did the exact opposite. Turning on his heel, he looked Asami straight in thee eyes, and smiled a smile that reeked of melancholy and distance.

“Maybe I am, but what do you care?” He questioned, “You wanted me out of your life, and so I’m out of your life. I would expect you to be happy that I’m going to these countries. At least it'll be less trouble for you if I die, huh?”

AKihito wasn't sounding himself.The statement had taken Asami aback, and made him considerably more aware of the situation he was facing. Mentally, he kicked himself in the ass. Akihito was perhaps safer being with him, than he was away from him.

Asami looked at a loss for words, and Akihito nearly jumped for joy. Seldom did he render Asami speechless.

He shrugged, “I didn't expect any less from you, Asami- _sama_ , I'll be seeing yo-”  
“I do not want you dead,” Asami spoke rather silently as he looked into the blue eyes, “Just as I did not want you away from me.”  
Takaba sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, “Well you should've thought about that before you told me to get out. I'm a liability, remember?”

“No Akihito, you aren't,” Asami admitted rather sadly, “You-”  
“Save it Asami,” spat Akihito, as his palms began to accumulate with a thin layer of sweat, “I'm done with you.”

“And if you die?” Asami retorted, in all seriousness, “What happens then?”

Akihito bounced back and forth on the balls of his heels, and pursed his lips in a thoughtful manor. He shrugged, “I suppose I’ll be happy, and out of your hair. Right Asami?”

The older man looked taken aback by the straightforward reply, and nearly gasped. This wasn't the Akihito he knew.

“What the hell happened to you?” He began softly, as he placed a hand on Akihio's pale cheek.

The photographer shoved the kind gesture away, “ _You_ happened to me Asami.”

“Forgive me-”  
“Don't Asami, _please_ don't!” Akihito looked away, “Don't make me feel for you, let's just live like we've been living since we split. Okay...it's best for both of us.”

He turned away from Asami, only to face another yet unidentifiable force.

His PTSD collided into him like an angry bull.

_The smell of soggy iron filled his nostrils, and around him, he stood in thick sand that had accumulated into mounds of damp dirt, as pools of heavy blood bound them together. Bodies lay along the battle field like tattered pieces of paper in a trash bin, waving in the wind, and not given a seconds consideration._

_He could hear the popping of nearby gunfire, hear the shrills and howls of pain that carried into the wind, while he himself searched through the blood shed for any living soul-_

“Akihito?”

_His legs were plagued with fatigue, his chest was burning as sand filled his lungs, but he didn't stop. He couldn't, he had to find Aaban and Eliana. He couldn't lose them, he just could-_

Asami gently placed a hand on Takaba's shoulder. He did so with great concern. The boy was tense, too tense. His breathing was hard, he was panting.

He was trembling.

“Akihito, what's wrong?”

_He saw the gunfire tear through Eliana's tiny form. She fell to the ground with a thud, and her scream filled the air. Akihito's eyes watered and the bile in his throat rose._

_Why was this happening, why on earth-_

“Akihito-”

What little that the photographer had consumed at the luncheon came spewing out of his mouth, and splattered on the ground burning concrete ground.

Next, Akihito's wobbly knees gave out, resulting in his body collapsing.

Asami was beside him in a second.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please forgive me for any mistakes. Feel free to point them out. Anyway, have a nice weekend, and God bless!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Special shout out to Ashida for wanting this chapter. I hope you enjoy it, I listened to an old song last night, and it kinda boosted my wanting to do this. So I hope you enjoy.   
> Disclaimer: I don't own the VF.

“It was nothing serious,” Takaab reassured the purple haired man, as he tossed a random pen up in the air, “Just some of the usual, you know.”   
  
“Except the “usual” has never had you vomiting,” Keiichi retorted with a hiss, “This is probably something more serious! What if you picked something-”

 

“Keiichi, it's fine,” Takaba snapped back, his tone serious and defensive, “Just leave it alone.”

 

Keiichi stood with his arms crossed and back against the wall, eyes narrowing at the boy below him, calculating and weighing out the situation. With a sigh, he shook his head.

 

“Are you okay enough to come with us to Syria?” Keiichi began, “If you-”   
  
“Yes, I'm okay, okay?” Takaba was agitated now, “Just tired.”   
  
Keiich nodding, seemingly still unconvinced, “Ugh...just tell me if you're not up to it. Anyway, that Asami guy was really worried about you.”

 

Takaba perked up at the mention of Asami, “Where is he now, do you know?”   
  


Keiichi shrugged, “Stalking the hallways, I guess? He brought you here, least you can do is apologize for the inconvenience, think you thew up on his clothes anyway.”

 

Takaba grunted and ran a hand through his light hair, the last thing he needed to do was to talk to Asami about anything that had happened to him in the past. He just wanted to be done with him, done. There was no room for regret.

 

“I'll do that later,” he sighed, “When can I leave?”

  
Keiichi rolled his eyes again, “Honestly, you're not even supposed to be moving around, let alone getting out of bed, just rest, will you? You deserve it, you know!”

 

Takaba looked at his surroundings. Honestly, it wasn't really that bad, they'd even taken his IV out a little while ago, and hadn't even bothered to change him into hospital clothing. As soon as he relocated his shoes, he'd be good to go, and out of Asami's hair.

 

It sounded like a plan.

 

Pushing on the balls of his hands, and steadying himself the best he could, Akihito swung his legs over the bed and jumped to the floor.

  
“W-what are you doing?” Keiichi ran over towards the blond, who upon setting himself on the ground, nearly fell.

Takaba put up a hand quickly, halting Keiichi's attempts to help him, “I'm okay, just make sure the coast is clear!”

 

Keiichi's eye twitched in annoyance, “You're kiding, right-”

 

“Check!”

 

Takaba had some control over Keiichi, supposed the purple haired man, as he grunted and swiftly moved across the floor to the door. Slowly, he grabbed the handle, and pushed open the white door. Looking to both sides, he poked his head back in, “The coast is clear.”

 

Takaba nodded as he looked around for his shoes, and to his dismay, found them nowhere , “Whatever, let's just go.”

 

“What do you mean whatever?” Keiichi called back, as he stepped out into the hallway, quickly followed by Akihito. The photographer shook his head in response to the question, “Nothing, let's just get out of here.”   
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“Can't I get arrested for helping you escape?” Keiichi questioned as the two waited in the elevator, rocking back and forth on his heels, “I-if they ask, I’m going to tell them you told me it was okay for me to take you out.”

 

Takaba shrugged, looking down at his shoeless feet, “Fine by me, not like we're going to have to-”   
  
The elevator door dinged open, and standing with his hands deep in his pocket, and at a slouch, was the man with golden eyes in a suit, or to Takaba, Asami.

 

Saying he looked shocked was a little bit of an understatement. An array of colors fluctuated within those golden eyes. Keiichi stiffened suddenly, and opened his mouth as if to speak, but fell short of anything to say.

 

There was no doubt that Mr. Asami knew of Akihito's condition, and knew that he shouldn't have been let out.

 

_Now would be a perfect time for the elevator door to close,_ Keiichi thought to himself as he made to push the button, though instantly quivered away when Mr. Asami stepped over the threshold, and into the elevator, followed by his two silent and stoic guards. Keiichi stepped away, his back pressing against the metal wall. 

 

He looked at Akihito, who to his surprise, bore not the jovial and charismatic attitude he spirited just seconds ago. He looked lost, almost defeated, especially as Asami's gaze bore down upon him.

 

Their actions suggested that some sort of unspoken conversation was taking place, a conversation that had been forged of bad blood. If Takaba's reluctance to make eye contact with Asami told Keiichi anything, it was certainly that the two disliked each other, or one disliked the other.

 

Their body language made Keiichi feel like an audience member in a movie theater, only mean to watch, but not meant to question.

 

As the elevator came to a stop, Asami's guards grabbed Keiich by the arms, leaving little time for him to say anything.

“Hey, Asami!” Takaba shouted, moving towards the purple haired man, “Let him go! He has nothing to do with this!”

 

Keiichi wondered what “this” was, though upon looking at the golden eyed man, he found himself growing increasingly nervous.

 

Asami's gaze seared into Keiichi's soul, and the missionary worker found himself looking at his feet, “Come with me, Akihito, and he'll be safe.”   
  
Takaba didn't hesitate, and followed Asami quickly as the elevator doors opened, but not before casting a solemn look at Keiich one last time.

 

_I'm sorry,_ said those sad blue eyes. And with that, the doors closed. 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

 

Takaba leaned against the white hospital wall of the room he'd originally been put into. His arms were crossed tightly around his body, and he averted his gaze from Asami, who leaned on the opposite wall. With his dark suit pelting against the whiteness of the room, Takaba supposed he looked like some terrible demon that had dared to step foot into heaven. Takaba made sure that the distance between them was huge. He didn't fancy being assaulted by Asami, not today. Not ever, really.

 

“What do you want, Asami?” The photographer asked suddenly, immediately taking hold of the silence. He needed the conversation to progress, and to do so quickly. He had no intention of remaining in the same room with Asami for longer than needed.

  
When the older man refused to respond, Takaba only grunted.

 

“If it's about me going to Syria or coming back, you know the answer already,” though his insides tingled with anger, and an enormous urge to yell, he bit back his protest, as his anger would only excite Asami, he didn't need that.

 

There was a silence after his snide remark, and Asami ran a hand through his dark locks, before looking dead straight at Akihito, “What are you trying to prove to me?”   
  
Takaba lifted his dark eyes, and bore down upon the business man, conceded _much? “_ And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Takaba hissed as he tapped a finger on his upper arm, “I'm not doing any of this for you, or for attention or anything like that. I'm doing this for myself! Now where is Keiichi?”

 

He watched Asami's golden orbs darken at the sound of the name Keiich. _Jealousy?_ Takaba nearly smirked, though figured that it would be inappropriate for the situation.

 

“What exactly is Keiich to you?” Asami responded with a question, which was very characterisc of him.

  
The blond wondered what Asami's reaction would be if he told Asami that Keiichi was his boyfriend. He seriously entertained the idea, though figured that for Keiichi's sake, he should get straight to the point.

 

“My manager, I guess,” Takaba said rather calmly, “a friend.”

 

Asami raised an eyebrow.

 

“What, you don't believe me?” spoke Takaba, as he eyed Asami curiously, “Not that it matters, but still, where is he?”

 

Asami said nothing, only smirked at the photographer, “Safe.”

 

Takaba bit his lip before he lost his temper completely. Anger would only entice Asami, then he'd lost control. Takaba couldn't bear to lose control if he wanted to weave his way out of the situation quickly and efficiently.

 

“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to find my “safe” friend,” he pushed himself off of the wall with a calm air about him and headed towards the door with arms still crossed and gaze once again averted from Asami. The hospital wasn't entirely too large, and knowing Asami, he really hadn't done anything to Keiich. If anything, he was being held in the basement, or something of the sort.

 

That was Asami's style.

 

He didn't even look at Asami as he grazed past the older man, only stuck a hand out to the door knob, and quickly attempted to grab the metal. Only, Asami's large hand stopped him before he had the chance to do so.

 

Takaba's heart skipped a beat at the sensation of having Asami so close to him once again. Blood crept to his face, and the surface tingled with blush. Takaba's eyes opened wide as his body slowly began to betray him.

 

“Asami, _let go.”_ Takaba hissed like a feral cat, jerking his arm as hard as he could away from the older man, “I'm not playing.”   
  
Asami chuckled from above him, leaning forward and whispering in his ear, “I never said you were.”   
  


In a fluid motion, Asami's hand had found its way on the back of Takaba's blond head, forced it upward, and into Asami's hungry lips. Takaba's arm stiffened in Asami's grasp, though fell as the older man forced his tongue through Takaba's teeth, and deeper into his wet mouth.

 

Asami twisted his fingers into Takaba's soft hair, and kissed him as if he'd been craving him for eternity.

 

Takaba's wide eyes drooped closed as the kiss grew deeper and more sensual. His legs nearly gave out below him.

 

_You idiot Akihito! What are you, his whore?_ A voice shouted in his mind,  _Punch that bastard in the face!_

 

Takaba's eyes widened as the voice became instantly recognizable to him. _Keiichi? When did Keiich become my conscience?_ Nevertheless, he chose not to dwell on the awkward phenomenon, rather take the rash action into consideration.

  
Takaba Akihito was a photographer who photographed catastrophes in war torn countries. He brought the world the life that it refused to see, he brought death to the media and despair to the world. He wasn't Asami's whore anymore, he was more than that.

 

The limp arm suddenly became as hard as a piece of metal, and with a sharp uppercut, he bore his razor fist into the side of Asami's face.

 

“Bastard!” He cursed , as he ran beside the staggering man, throwing the door open, and zooming down the hallway.

 

He looked like an escaped mental patient, he was certain, especially given the way the nurses were staring at him as he darted down the hallways. But he didn't care, not too much at least.

 

Right now, finding Keiichi, and getting the hell out of the hospital were the only things occupying his mind.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Ashida, I hoped you enjoyed it, and the same goes to any one else who really wanted me to update! Next chapter, Keiichi takes a stand. And also, the next chapter length story I'll be updating will be Gone, so those of you who've been awaiting that, just wait a little bit longer!  
> Also, can you guys believe it, Naruto ended :,( And Kakashi and Iruka didn't get together!! JKJK, it's shounen, not yaoi, I never kept my hopes too high. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter, hope you're eagerly awaiting a new chapter of Gone. Have a wonderful weekend, and God bless!

**Author's Note:**

> shichi go san-7-5-3 seven celebration in Japan. Celebrates the “Comming of Age”  
> Mirror of Erised- From Harry Potter, the mirror that allows you to see what you most desire.  
> Shari'a law-the supreme law of the state Afghanistan, which serves as the legal framework between the Afghan government and the Afghan citizens.  
> Okay, as for the part where Takaba mentions their brains our burned out by the sun, that's an actual Southern United States stereotype. That's why some people say we talk so slow, because the sun done burned out our brains.  
> Anyway, I hope you liked it! It's seventeen pages! Seventeen pages! And I hope you like it, and sorry for any misspellings or grammar, just let me know please!  
> I wanted to touch up on this as well, sinceI'm trying to do something different with this scenario. Aaban and Eliana will be brought up later, and as for the greetings, Shalom is Jewish for peace and love, though is used by Islamics (As far as religion goes) but extended further. How do I know this? I looked it up, and my step dad is Muslim (he's from India), and I've heard him say the same things Aaban says (though I didn't know what it was at the time).  
> Presently, Syria is in a Civil War, and it is the most dangerous place for journalist to go. They're being killed, as are many children.  
> It's an emergency. So please pray for the people there.  
> When I get a little bit older, I plan to do a lot of mission trips.


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